Just Like That

Part 18

"What's that?" you screeched, spotting the package outside your apartment door as you trudged up the stairs.

Two days back at work–not even with kids yet, and you were absolutely exhausted. Your birthday was technically tomorrow, but it had been decided that you'd celebrate with Tom this evening. It had been a busy week for you both–him more so as training for Loki picked back up.

"I haven't a clue what you could be referring to, my dear," came Tom's sing-songy voice, nestled between your ear and shoulder.

"We said no gifts," warning him as you performed the juggling act of unlocking the door, setting your bag down, keeping your phone against your shoulder, and pushing in the package with your foot.

"You said no gifts," he corrected with the same carefree air. "Besides, you aren't fooling anyone. We both know you love a good present."

"But what do I hate, Mr. Hiddleston?" a trademark tone you usually reserved for students, but it seemed he would be on the receiving end of it—for at least a little bit.

"Horses. You'll be pleased to find out that there isn't a horse in the box."

"Not what I meant..."

"Hm, you strongly dislike ice skating. That seems rather ludicrous to think I would package one of those away in a box," he went on. Even if you couldn't see him, you knew there was a smirk on the end of the line.

"No..."

"While I do enjoy a good cup of tea, I believe you refer to it as 'hot brown water. Not in the box either."

"Excuse you. Ted Lasso refers to it as hot brown water. I just whole-heartedly agree," closing your front door behind you and locking up for the evening. Tom made a mental note to not leave you alone with Jason Sudeikis. Honestly, anyone with facial hair–it made him feel far more comfortable to just stop that from ever happening all together. "Give me a second," he heard you grunt, obviously shifting around and repositioning until the phone call switched from just voice, to facetime as well.

Despite your unamused expression, Tom's face lit up at the sight of you. Brown hair highlighted from time in the sun over the summer pulled-up into a bouncy ponytail, little lightning bolt earrings working as a subtle nod to your first literary love of Harry Potter, and a t-shirt that sported the phrase "They call me Darth Grader" topped off with an apple in the shape of the Death Star.

You were an absolute nerd. And he adored it. "There's my gorgeous, birthday girl," he beamed, settling up against his kitchen counter.

Fighting a smile (and the subsequent blush anytime he gave you a compliment while looking at you), you forced your jaw to draw a hard line. "Flattery will get you nowhere, Hiddleston."

"I beg to differ. It's gotten me this far with you," his grin was all teeth and unstoppable. He pushed back a stray curl behind his ears, working on growing his hair longer for Loki. Upon your not so subtle request, he was holding off on shaving until the bitter end.

'What is it I hate, Tom? What is it?" But this time you didn't give him any time to make a witty quip. "Surprises, Tom. I hate surprises. Why? Because my face doesn't know how to handle a surprise."

Tom settled in for the rant that he knew you had prepared for this very situation. Should he have tried harder to take you seriously? Perhaps. Could he hide his amusement? Absolutely not.

"What if it's something magnificent?! Hm? Then I have to make sure my face reacts accordingly. You can't give me a car and I react as though it were a pair of socks!" hands flying up once the phone was secure on the kitchen bar.